Awakening [Mutatis Mutandis]
by Kitten Moo
Summary: What happend to Pietro after 'Day of Reckoning'? The start of his new life with his new team mates and what not. (This happens some time after 'Left Behind' and happens around the same time as 'Bloodstained Machinations')
1. Aftermath

**Disclaimer:** All the characters used belong to Marvel, who in fact like to run around in speedos in the winter. 

Quick Note: takes place after Day of Reckoning and during Bloodstained Machinations, danke danke. 

*** 

Darkness swirled around his eyes like an endless parade of forbidden pleasures, seeping in and out from unconsciousness. 

Images began to form out of the shadows, images of his sister, the angry look she had had on her face. Pain and frustration had screamed out from behind her luminescent eyes, the way she had bared her teeth like some sort of feral animal when she had come upon the two of them. 

_Wanda.._ he thought faintly, his eyes fluttering, he hadn't wanted to hurt her anymore, but like always his father had convinced him that there was something greater to work towards. 

Something that she couldn't be a part of. 

His body stirred, jerked back into reality. He opened his eyes to darkness; he couldn't see anything but he could feel the earth pressing down on top of him. He struggled to breathe; it stank of blood and sweat, his sweat. 

"Fuck," he whispered, realizing exactly where he was. 

Trapped. 

Awakening   
By Kitten 

His hands were beginning to cramp, yet he continued to paw at the earth. His breathing was shallow and weak, his heart raced with fear. 

He swore softly when his fingers tore at stone, breaking off three of his fingernails, blood oozed slowly down his arm leaving a trail like some sort of plump slug. 

He shuddered and tried to maneuver his hands around the chunk of stone, it worked and he grabbed onto what seemed to be a rail of some kind, pulling hard he began to pull himself up towards the surface little by little. 

Pain flared in his left thigh and he stopped, wheezing. He bit into his lip, trying hard to ignore the searing feeling in his leg. 

"Son of a bitch," he panted out and dragged himself further upwards. 

Something was wrong. 

Pietro tugged himself up gently and felt it; yup that's what was wrong. Hoooo boy we found yer problem all right! 

His leg was stuck, but not between something, rather, it was stuck on something. 

Half way to tears he sneaked one arm down to his thigh, he felt something wet, sticky. 

_Oh fuck me,_ his mind whispered. _Please let that be piss, tell me that I've turned into such a pussy that I've wet myself._

He fingered the substance and felt his heart grow cold. It wasn't urine. 

"fuck." He stated weakly, his hand felt along his thigh and he laughed nervously when he felt the coldness of an iron bar. 

He laughed again, coming close to hysterics, quiet and suffocated hysterics but hysterics all the same. 

There was a fucking bar stuck though his goddamn leg!! 

Pietro coughed and choked on the shallow air, he wouldn't last much longer down here. 

Grabbing onto the railing once more he took as many deep breaths as he could down in this shit hole, mentally preparing himself for what was to come.   
He pulled upwards, sweat began to bead off his skin and he paused. 

"Come on you little puss," he said to himself. "Don't wuss out now..this is a challenge right? So just fucking do it." 

He tightened his grip on the railing and hauled himself upwards, feeling his stomach drop when he heard the bar slipping though his flesh. He continued, the pain flaring up to almost unbearable amounts, he kept going. 

Straining towards the surface, feeling blood rush its way down his thigh and into the depths of the earth. He shut his eyes tightly and puffed out a dry breath, the fucking thing wouldn't let him go, it would hold onto him until he suffocated down in this type of man made hell. 

"Fuck that," he muttered as he yanked himself free, screaming in pain as the last bit of the bar slid out of his leg. 

With the last bit of strength he could find Pietro hauled himself up another notch until his entire body was sprawled out on stone, he could feel air seeping in through the upper world. He reached upwards but collapsed and blacked out once more, seeing his sister's vengeful eyes just before darkness took him once more. 

*** 

Pietro awoke to the sound of distant voices, someone laughing. It seemed so out of place and   
un-earthly that he thought he was still dreaming, he twitched and groaned once, choking on the dusty air. 

_What if it's soldiers? Or police?_ His mind asked him. 

Staying silent he tried to hear what they were saying, the voices were getting closer by the minute. 

He tried to shrink back, his leg screamed with pain and he had to bite his lip. Someone was very   
close, he could hear their footsteps, heavy paces. 

"Gotcha," a gruff voice said straight above him, Pietro shut his eyes and prayed that it was the   
police, at least that way they would take him to the hospital before they stuck his ass in jail. 

Stone was lifted and Pietro felt the heavenly breeze of fresh air, its cold aroma filling his senses.   
He opened one puffy eye and saw a blurred yet recognizable figure, the long blonde hair, the ratty over coat, it was Sabertooth. 

"How?" He managed to wheeze out, Sabertooh patted his nose twice, a half grin on his face. 

"I smelt blood, so I came a runnin'. Was hoping that you were going to be a nice tasty treat but I guess ol boss man will be happy that his kid's alive." 

He lifted Pietro up as if he was a rag doll, throwing him over his left shoulder as he plodded back over towards the group. Pietro coughed, his ribs pressing into his sandy lungs. 

"Give me my son," he heard his father say, his voice was tired yet still powerful. He felt his body being passed, warm strong arms held him close. Memories flooded his mind, he strained to see his father's face clearly yet he was suddenly tired once again. 

"Sleep now Pietro, you are safe." 

His eyes slipped shut and his fear and pain fell away, he was asleep almost instantly, curled against his father's chest like he was an infant again. 

*** 

He awoke to the sound of laughter, his eyes opened slowly and he felt warm and fuzzy. As far as he could tell he was in a bed, the covers soft and heated, his leg ached but felt better than before.   
A door opened and a figure came softly in, its dark form illuminated by the glow of television. The laughter sounded again and the stranger sat next to his bed and stroked his hair comfortingly. He struggled to see the face, it was dark and all he could see was the faint outline of a woman. 

"Mom?" He said groggily, the figure brushed his forehead and shushed him, telling him to sleep. 

Her voice was soft and barely above a whisper, he struggled and tried to sit up, she helped him up and he noticed how tender her touch was. 

"Are you thirsty?" She asked, and he nodded, his throat had never felt so old or dry. 

He was given water and then eased back down onto the awaiting pillows, he tried to say more but the words were stuck in his throat, he curled up under the covers and fell asleep again. 

*** 

_Everything you say, I want to know.   
The depth of the sea, the height of the sky, the mysteries of blue filled skies.   
These wonderful wonders, this view.   
That's why I fell in love with you   
I am yours   
Even now I want to be an angel_

The voice was heavenly, the pitch high and sweet, each word seemed to flow along on a river of compassion and sadness. He stirred when he heard this angelic voice, his eyes fluttering, wanting to open and see her beauty. They opened, light shone in through an open window, and he squinted around the room half expecting heaven instead of a bedroom. 

The angel was sitting on the bed, next to his injured leg. Her hands worked quickly and lovingly as she re-dressed his wound, he felt no pain as she did this, only amazement. She sang as she worked, her lips parting and that beautiful voice flowing out elegantly in waves of bliss. 

Pietro looked at her face and nearly cried. The light from the window illuminated her doll like features, enhancing his idea that she was an angel; her eyes were the color of the sky and filled with compassion. Her skin was a pale lavender that seemed to glow in the sunlight, her dark wine colored hair tumbled forward over her shoulders when she leaned over to finish the wrapping. 

He coughed and she turned and looked at him, a gentle smile spreading across her lips. Pietro couldn't help but smile back, she looked into his eyes. 

"Good morning sleepy head." 

He grinned and slowly sat up, feeling refreshed and awake. "Morning," he said, marveling at how groggy he sounded. He cleared his throat and looked back up into her face. 

"Where am I?" He asked, looking about the room. It was an apartment bedroom, white walls and soft lights. 

"Home." She said happily, he looked at her confused and she got up off the bed. She took out a blue robe from the closet and held it out to him. 

"How about you get cleaned up and then I can take you to see your father? He can explain every thing to you." 

He nodded, a bath would be very nice right around now. He was sure he didn't smell very good, having been asleep for who knows how long. 

She left him to put on the robe and he could hear her humming as she went into the bathroom, moments later when he had slipped into the robe she knocked softly and told him his bath was ready. She helped him walk to the bathroom, then left him to a large tub full of bubbles and lit candles. 

Pietro sighed and slipped into the tub, feeling like he had woke up from a very long dream. 

He thought about the girl, the angel, who was she? And how did she know his father? 

Sliding under the bubbles he dismissed all thoughts and kept his mind on what was most important, getting clean. He scrubbed and sloshed about in the tub until he felt spotless then he slipped back into the robe and hobbled to the door. She was there, smiling, ready to help him get back to his room, fresh bandages in her hands. 

Once she had dressed his already healing wound she left him to get dressed, having already laid out clean clothes on the bed. 

_Well who ever she is, she's really something._ His mind mused. 

Next Chapter 

Fics 


	2. Good Morning

**Disclaimer:** Once again, all the characters mentioned belong to Marvel. If you try and steal them I hear that Stan Lee sends his hordes of rabid monkeys with tire irons to your grandmother's house. 

**Author's Note:** This takes place after Day of Reckoning and during Bloodstained Machinations and of course it all falls into the Mutatis Mutandis time line. 

I would also quickly like to say a quick thank you to DarkFire who took the time to read both 'Awakening part 1' and all of 'Left Behind' and was able to piece together that the girl is in fact Blink. So yeah, thanks man. 

So without further ado, the story continues. 

**Awakening**   
Part 2   
By starched_undergarments 

The bedroom was large, and furnished with fine silk and elegant furniture. His father sat at a small desk that was near a large window, the long black curtains flowing against a soft wind. 

"Eric?" The young angel who stood next to Pietro called softly over to his father's brooding form. He looked up and instantly smiled. He stood and motioned for Pietro to take a seat, while the girl let herself out quietly. 

"Pietro, how are you feeling?" 

He shrugged, his eyes wandering around the room. White walls, sharp contrasting colors, and expensive furnishings. "I'm good, I guess." 

His eyes met with his father's and he looked away, suddenly feeling very small. 

"Where are we?" He asked after a few moments of uncomfortable silence. His father settled back into his chair and folded his hands on his lap. 

"Maine. This will be your new home for the time being. It's a nice area; a relatively undeveloped part of town so there shall be no problems with prying eyes." 

Pietro nodded, a welt of depression forming in his heart. Another new home. Wasn't that always the way? 

His father stood, his regal and powerful demeanor returning once more. 

"Come with me, I will introduce you to your new team-mates." 

*** 

"And if you act now you can get the extra set for just 19.99!" 

St. John snorted and changed the channel. "Or you could suck my…" 

"St.John." 

Instant panic hit him, he clicked off the TV and stood up to face his boss, a small embarrassed smile creeping across his face. 

"Yes, boss man?" 

Magneto stood in front of his son, who St. John had seen a few days earlier when they had fished him out of the rubble. He looked considerably better, and now that John could see him clean and dressed he thought that he was an absolute dish. 

"I would like you to meet my son, Pietro. Pietro this is Pyro." 

He stepped forward at the mention of his code name, offering a grin and a handshake to the small albino boy in front of him. 

"St. John Allerdyce, pleased t' meet you, mate." 

The two shook hands. St. John could see Clarice peering out from around the corner of the hallway, making sure that the boys were playing nice. 

He had to smile; ever since he had joined up with Magneto she always played the role of the mother hen. Protective, nurturing, and most of all, extremely kind. He couldn't remember a time he had ever seen her angry or cross, she managed to always keep her emotions in control. It was the emotions of others that she dealt with; she frequently played peacekeeper and psychologist with every other member of the team. 

Especially Chamber. 

The two of them had a very strong bond, quiet and unspoken. On numerous occasions John would see Clarice softly creeping into Jonothon's dark haven. The door would close and he wouldn't hear another sound, he was beginning to think that the two of them were just sitting there, having entire conversations within each other's minds. 

He wouldn't be surprised, there was little Clarice couldn't do. 

"St. John will be your roommate from now on," Magneto said. "John, would you mind showing my son around? I need to finish researching a few things." 

St. John nodded and slung an arm around Pietro's shoulders. "No problem! C'mon mate I'll introduce you to the troops and show you the pad!" 

Pietro smiled warily and hobbled alongside St. John as he led him towards the kitchen where they came upon a large hulking figure and a much smaller one in the middle of a card game. 

"Cheers boys! I've come bearing fresh meat!" John proclaimed dramatically as he entered the large white kitchen. 

The smaller boy looked up, his eyes dark and mischievous. "So dis be de bosses son, _non_?" Pietro looked to St. John, who was trying to peek at the larger boy's hand. 

"Yup. Pietro, meet Remy LeBeau, also known as Gambit. And this huge mass of silent muscle is Colossus. Or as I like to call him, Petey." 

Colossus gave St. John a hard stare, his mouth set in a frown. "The name is Piotr, not Petey." 

Pietro nodded, amazed at the other boy's bulk. He didn't look that much older, but he was huge. 

"Has he met de surrogate angel yet?" The scruffy Cajun boy asked. St. John grinned and dashed into the hallway, returning moments later with Clarice. 

"I think you two have met, yet not properly." 

The girl smiled at Pietro, that beautiful smile. It lit up her entire face. 

"Hi," she said softly. Pietro smiled back. 

"Hi." 

"Clarice Ferguson, Pietro Maximoff. Pietro, Clarice. There, now we all know each other." John said merrily, his Australian accent flowing out smoothly. 

"Is that it?" Pietro asked, feeling a little more at ease with the girl in the kitchen. 

"Well der be Chamber, but I doubt you'll ever see him during de daytime," Remy slurred through his thick accent. Pietro looked at Clarice confused. 

"Who's Chamber?" He asked, and she smiled. 

"Chamber, or Jonothon, is the 7th member of our team. The 'other' secret weapon." John said casually, pulling open the fridge and rummaging around. "He stays in his room and will usually only talk to Clarice. He's not a bad guy, just very….antisocial." 

"And wit good reason to be," Remy said softly, re-shuffling the deck or cards like a pro. 

"Oh?" Pietro said, having himself a seat at the table. 

"You'll get to know him later," John said sitting down as well. He tossed Pietro a coke and gave him a wink. 

"So, you much of a gambler?" 

*** 

It was dark, but she was used to it. It was always dark in his room. 

"Jonothon?" She said softly, searching for his form. He was lying on his bed; she sat down quietly and touched his shoulder. He jerked and she soothed him. 

"Shhh, it's just me." She ran a hand through his tangled hair, he relaxed and she moved closer. "Magneto's son is up and about now, he seems very…." 

*Anxious.* 

She smiled in the dark; he rolled over and laid his head on her lap. "Anxious?" She questioned. 

He nodded and closed his eyes, *I can feel 'im. His…mind. It's very busy, high strung.* 

Clarice played with his curls, "Are you going to say hello to him?" She probed gently. His eyes opened. 

*No.* 

"No as in 'not at all'? Or as in 'not at this very moment'?" 

*Not at this moment,* he said in her mind. *Perhaps later. Right now I….I just want to lie here and think.* 

"About the past?" She asked him quietly and he nodded sadly, hugging her body closer to his. It didn't make any sense but she seemed to make everything go away, just her presence soothed old wounds. 

*It's starting to rain.* He said absently. 

She nodded, the light sound of rain beginning to patter on the roof, a soft chorus of heaven's tears. 

*** 


	3. Horror Comes With Waking Interlude

**Disclaimer:** None of the characters depicted in this fic are mine, they are all property of Marvel. I'd like to take a second to say that I hadn't picked up a Marvel comic in YEARS but I succumbed to temptation and got the last two Chamber comics and they kick ASS. I'm in love with the colourist. Anyhow, thanks Marvel, for not sucking donkey ass! 

**Author's Notes:** This is an interlude. And as if you hadn't noticed, starched_undergarments and I are taking turns writing the various _Mutatis Mutandis_ fics. Also, I'm personally opposed to suicide so please don't start thinking I'm a baby-bat with fashionable wrist scars. ^__^ (These kids today... god I'm getting old...) 

**Horror Comes With Waking**   
By N 

"At first I stared back, unable to believe that it was I who was reflected in the mirror, and when I became fully convinced that I was in reality the monster that I am, I was filled with the bitterest sensations."   
-Mary Shelley, _Frankenstein_

He closed his eyes and listened to the murmur of the rain. He had come to believe that all the mysteries of the world were revealed in the secret whisperings of raindrops carving the air; that every event of past, present and future was told in clandestine tones not meant for mortal ears. 

Jonothon Starsmore lay still in the dark and strained to hear news of his own destiny. 

Someone new was living in the apartment. Clarice said it was Magneto's son and that his name was Pietro; Jonothon found it hard to conceive of Magneto raising a child under any circumstance and figured the kid must have some rather interesting issues about the man who had sired him. He'd heard the new member of their little 'group' talking, but more importantly he could feel him - he had a very high-strung quality that convinced Jonothon that he would not enjoy his company very much. 

Not that he enjoyed anyone's company very much. 

Clarice was the only one who ever entered his room, and he himself left it only to shower in his own secret hours when everyone else was supposed to be sleeping. He'd passed by the Cajun once or twice, who had been watching late-night infomercials advertising pornographic phone-chats. They'd eyed each other while silicone Barbie dolls contorted on-screen and came to the mutual decision not to speak. Words, Jonothon had discovered, were mostly hollow. 

He had in some strange way become the bogeyman - he lived in the dark and emerged only after the last vestige of light had fled the world. He wasn't a person but rather something frightening that lurked out of sight and served as grim and terrible legend to scare the innocent with. And the hell of it was that he wasn't entirely sure he minded… At least this way he was left alone. 

Mostly. 

Not long after arriving in the pristine white penthouse he had decided that the price of his existence was far too high. The wounds on his face had scarcely begun to heal and his entire body ached with a miserable loss for which there was no cure. There had only been three of them at that point: Magneto, Clarice and himself. He'd seen only Clarice once - a frightened pair of blue eyes looking over the Armani-clad shoulder of his new benefactor. 

"You're both here to heal," Magneto had told them in silky, comforting tones. But what were you supposed to do if the wound never closed? 

The kitchen tiles had been cold on his bare feet as he padded quietly across the room, glancing at the green neon of the microwave clock. 2:00 am. As good a time as any, he'd supposed. He'd slid open a drawer and paused, nearly hypnotized by the deadly promise reflected in the gleaming steel inside. He selected for his impromptu operation an eight-inch blade with a wicked edge and closed the drawer. The kitchen floor was made up of immaculate black and white tiles in a checkerboard pattern and he couldn't help but think that the red he was about to add to the color scheme would look rather artistic in a morbid fashion. 

He'd cut his left wrist vertically, his eyes squeezing shut as he felt the skin part to admit the tip of the blade. Nerve-endings screamed in agony, as was to be expected, but something was wrong. There was no rush of warm liquid, no blissful draining sensation as his life ebbed away. 

Jonothon had opened his eyes to find that no blood flowed from his veins. 

Jonothon had felt a scream welling up inside him, but there was no voice with which it could issue forth. Frenzied, he lifted the butcher knife above his head, determined to jab it through his traitorous wrist, perhaps nailing himself to the floor with it. 

"Jonothon?" 

He'd paused, his hand wavering and his vision trebled as tears formed at the corners of his eyes. Standing in the kitchen doorway was a delicate figure in a powder-blue nightgown. Her eyes were huge and instantly recognizable, even in the dark. 

Clarice Ferguson crossed the kitchen quickly and knelt beside Jonothon, her hands wrapping themselves gently around the haft of the knife and pulling it form his grip. "Shhh," she soothed. She placed the knife out of Jonothon's reach and then examined his wrist, her brow furrowing as she did so. She'd looked up at him, her eyes faintly accusing. 

Jonothon had felt an intense urge to explain himself as tears coursed freely down his disfigured face. Instinctively he reached for the words and tried to push them forth, praying for a way to communicate. 

*I…* 

"Calm down," Clarice urged him softly. "If you concentrate you can make me hear you. Eric said that all you have to do is focus." 

With a concentrated effort, Jonothon had quelled the panic of his emotions and composed himself. After a few minutes of silence, he reached out with his mind, blindly, seeking only to be heard. 

*It hurts.* 

The feeling was alien, like a radio signal being beamed to an unfamiliar receptor. Clarice nodded, obviously feeling a little strange about having someone speak directly into her mind but determined not to be frightened. 

"Yes." 

She had held out her arms and he'd fallen mutely into them, letting himself be held. It was the most human contact he'd had since the explosion that had transformed him into a monster and he was profoundly grateful for it. 

*I can't… live like this.* It was not easy to express himself in this alien way. *I shouldn't even… be alive, anyway.* 

"But you are," Clarice had whispered, her lips moving against his temple. "That's a miracle in a way. Are you so ready to give up on it?" 

*No.* 

No. 

Jonothon sat up, the whisper of the rain still sighing in his ears. After a moment's consideration he crossed the room, passing his dresser and the glassless frame above it; he'd smashed the mirror to pieces his first night in the apartment. He reached the door an opened it, letting himself out into the dim hallway. 

There were lights on and voices were issuing from the kitchen. He paused, steeling himself, and ventured cautiously into the main foyer, trying to remain unnoticed. 

_Fat chance,_ he thought. _All-black apparel against a white wall. Sure, you'll blend right in._

Eyes turned immediately towards him and conversation stopped dead, if only for a second. A second was long enough, Jonothon thought. He was, however, rewarded with his first glimpse of Magnetos' son, who was staring at him with blatant surprise. 

St. John broke the silence with a grin. "G'day, Chamber. Unusual for you t'be out in the light." 

*It's raining,* Jonothon replied absently, moving into and across the living room. Clarice was seated on the couch, reading. She looked up as he passed her and smiled. 

"Hi, Jono." 

*'Lo, luv.* 

He let himself out onto the patio, careful to close the door behind him. Out here the rain was louder; a low drone of conversation barely masked behind cupped hands. The air was damp and coolly familiar against his skin. How many times had he walked through the streets of East London with the same sweet moisture chill against his face? Jonothon leaned against the porch railing, stretching one arm out so raindrops thudded against his palm. He looked around; their apartment was situated on the top floor of the eight-story building in a relatively undeveloped part of town. Tall trees grew against the west side of the building and the patio looked south over gentle hills that nearly obscured the road leading towards civilization. It was actually very pleasant. Almost peaceful. 

Languidly, Jonothon drew his arm back, his hand glistening with fresh rain. _The Bogeyman,_ he thought with a shred of amusement. _A walking nightmare._

Jonothon turned away from the railing as the rain continued its enigmatic prophecies. His destiny was already sealed; while others could escape night terrors in the safe light of day, for him the horror would always come with waking. 

**end**


	4. Assimilation

Disclaimer: Everyone belongs to Marvel, and if you steal them Stan Lee breaks into your house and sniffs your underthings. Ewwwwwwww.  
  
Author Notes: Part 3 of Awakening, falls into Mutatis Muntandis timeline. Go read the rest of it or I shall set loose my hordes of rabid monkeys with tire irons. http://www.originofspecies.cjb.net (Warning: some yaoi)  
  
Awakening part 3 By starched_undergarments  
  
It had been two days since Pietro rose from his deep slumber, and already he was getting used to living with his new 'team-mates'.  
  
He was now sharing a room with St. John; something he learned was a totally new experience on its own.  
  
The two of them sat on their respected beds; Pietro was looking anxiously out the large bedroom window where as St. John was sprawled out on his bed, humming.  
  
It took Pietro a moment to realize what the song was, when he did he laughed.  
  
"You're humming Boy George??" He asked incredulously.  
  
St. John looked at him and grinned, "Do you really want to huuuuuuuuuuuuuurt me. Do you really want to make me cry?" He sang at Pietro, his pitch low and oozing with sex appeal.  
  
He laughed again and St. John patted a spot next to him on his bed, Pietro hesitated and then sat down next to him. After a few moments he laid down next to the Aussie, the two of them staring up at the ceiling.  
  
"Do you like it here?" St. John asked after a moment, Pietro thought about it and then nodded.  
  
"Yeah, but can I ask you something?"  
  
St. John glanced at him, "Sure mate. Ask me anything."  
  
"Where does my dad sleep when he's here? The porch?"  
  
St. John broke up, his laugh loud and merry, it made Pietro grin.  
  
"No, he sleeps in Clarice's room."  
  
Pietro froze, his jaw stiffening. "My dad.and Clarice?" He said, anger flaring up deep inside him.  
  
St. John looked at him confused, then laughed again. "She doesn't sleep in there with him mate, heaven's no! Jonothon would never allow that, no she sleeps in Jono's bed whenever the boss is home."  
  
Pietro relaxed, feeling like a fool. Of course, that made sense. More than the thought of his father sleeping with such a frail and young woman, who sure as hell wasn't his mother.  
  
"Why doesn't she use the spare room?" He asked, trying to relax the rest of his body.  
  
"That's where Sabertooth sleeps, when he's home that is. Sometimes he just runs off on his own, me and Remy think that he's secretly a drag queen in New York."  
  
Pietro cringed as he picture Sabertooth in feathers and fake breasts, cooing Diana Ross songs.  
  
The two looked at each other and St. John sang a bar of "Why do fools fall in love", the two broke up again and Pietro grinned as John continued.  
  
"With a voice like that you sure could spread some legs," he said and St. John chuckled and rolled over onto his stomach.  
  
"You should hear Clarice sing, my voice is good and all but when she sings.." He paused, taking in a breath. "It's like heaven." He said simply.  
  
Pietro nodded and rolled over as well, the two of them kicking their legs like teenage girls in the midst of gossiping. "She sure is nice," Pietro said plucking some lint off of the bedspread.  
  
"Yeah," St. John agreed then paused, his eyes going serious for a moment, as if he was trying to see something that wasn't there.  
  
He looked over at Pietro, his good-natured smirk returning, "Have you ever worn leather pants?" He asked, and Pietro gave him a quizzical look. He slid off the bed with easy grace and sauntered over to the closet.  
  
After a moment of digging he pulled out a pair and flung them at Pietro dramatically, "Try them on." He said smiling, Pietro fingered them, they were real leather, smooth and smelling of an aphrodisiac.  
  
Why the hell not, he thought to himself.  
  
***  
  
Clarice Ferguson was not one to use violence; in fact she hated it. Hated the way it stung, how it ruined so many lives by doing so little. So When Eric, or Magneto as the others called him, had first presented the idea of her learning how to fight she flat out refused, her body clenching up and her heart stinging.  
  
"I don't want to hurt anybody." She had said quietly, turning her eyes away from his. He had wrapped his arms around her comfortingly, his tall form enveloping hers.  
  
"And neither do I," he said calmly, patiently. She had fought back tears, bitter, hateful memories flooding her mind.  
  
"It's wrong." She said through her quiet tears, he hugged her and tilted her china doll face up at his, his eyes kind.  
  
"But don't you want to be able to protect the ones you care about? Like Jonothon? Or Piotr?"  
  
And so she had begun to train every morning with Yuriko Oyama, a hardened Japanese woman who had been hired by Magneto. She was tough on Clarice and Clarice was a little frightened at first by her harsh and aggressive nature yet in time she grew to be very fond of her teacher, the two would spend hours alone together in the work-out room that was stationed above the penthouse.  
  
Which was where she was now.  
  
Her mind clear, her energy flowing outwards. She stood with her eyes shut, her body poised and ready. She began to run the usual routine, her body going through the movements; she no longer had to think about what she was doing, her body just reacted instinctively. She could hear the people above and below her, their distant movements echoing in her pointed ears, she let her mind wander as she practiced.  
  
Pietro was becoming more adjusted to the team, something that she was glad about. He seemed like such a lost little boy, one who needed reassurance. She smiled faintly and went directly into her gymnastics routine, her body stretching and folding like a master.  
  
*At least St. John is trying his hardest to make him feel at home* She thought to herself, bringing herself down into a splits.  
  
She heard a whistle from behind her, she knew who it was.  
  
"I swear cher, you get more flexible every day."  
  
She stood up and smiled cheerfully at the red-eyed Cajun, "Hi Remy. Did you want to use the room? I'm basically done for the day."  
  
He held his position in the doorframe for a moment longer before entering the room silently, his feet barely making even a whisper across the mats. Barely. It had become a well-known fact that none of the Acolytes, even Remy could sneak up on Clarice. This of course had something to do with her ears which St. John teased her good naturedly about; he would grin and proclaim that the Shire was missing one of their prettiest hobbits.  
  
"Do you need a sparing partner?" She asked, flicking a piece of her hair out of her blue eyes.  
  
"I dink that for tonight I shall be okay," he replied and removed his shirt. He was a lean boy, tight muscled and strong. He gave her a little wink when he noticed she was looking at him, she giggled and knew very well he meant it as a joke. None of the boys liked her 'that' way.  
  
Especially St. John..  
  
***  
  
"Niiiiiiiiiiiiiiiice," He said through a predatory grin.  
  
Pietro shot him an inquiring glance from his position in front of the full- length mirror, "Yeah?" He asked.  
  
"Oh yeah," St. John said and grinned as Pietro inspected his reflection again. The pants, as he had planned, were snug and curved nicely in all the right spots.  
  
"What about the shirt?" Pietro asked, oblivious to his roommate's heated eyes.  
  
"I think it's a little too big," St. John said absently, relishing the way Pietro stripped it off casually and continued to examine himself, turning this way and that, trying to take in all his sides. Which was exactly what St. John was doing as well.  
  
"You're right," Pietro said, running a hand through his hair. "I do look good."  
  
St. John smiled and eased himself off of his bed, sauntering up behind Pietro, his eyes running up and down the pale boy's body. "Mmmhmm," He said as he took in all the sights.  
  
"Do you think I should get my nipples pierced?" Pietro asked absentmindedly, and St. John could barely contain himself.  
  
"Well that depends," he said, coming up close behind the younger boy, his hand running down his smooth white chest, stopping at the nipples.  
  
"Do you think you could handle a little..pain?" He asked as he playfully pinched Pietro's left nipple. The small boy turned around shocked, his eyes wide and his mouth perched in a little 'o' of surprise.  
  
St. John grinned and kissed him forcefully on the mouth, his tongue slipping across the other boy's lips. He could feel Pietro resisting, feel how he wanted to pull away. He ceased this action by bringing his hands up across Pietro's chest, one hand toying with his nipple, the other snaking its way up and into his hair.  
  
They stood there for a few moments, their tongue's pressing against each other feverishly until Pietro broke away, his cheeks red and his eyes blurry from the sudden passion.  
  
"No," he said breathlessly. St. John moved to kiss him again and the younger boy used his powers and ducked, sending St. John sprawling onto the floor.  
  
He looked up surprised, then grinned foolishly. Pietro looked at him, shame creeping away from off his face, being replaced by a faint smile. St. John laughed and collapsed onto his back, he heard Pietro giggle and then lay down next to him.  
  
The two lay there laughing for who knows how long, the early confusion and sexual frustration drifting off with the sounds of their laughter.  
  
***  
  
Magneto stood, alone on the balcony, watching as the last rays of day drifted into night. He could hear his son laughing with St. John. He could hear the soft sounds of dinner cooking on the stove, Clarice almost always made dinner, once in a while Remy made a dish but only when the others felt that their sinuses needed clearing.  
  
No doubt Jonothon was in his room, and he knew Remy and Piotr were watching T.V. in the living room, he had passed them on his way out to the balcony.  
  
His son was becoming well adjusted, becoming part of the team very quickly, which was a good thing.  
  
Because it was almost time to make his move.  
  
And he needed every member of his team strong and loyal.  
  
Everyone.  
  
*** 


	5. Motivation

**Disclaimer:** Everyone belongs to Marvel, and if you steal them Stan Lee breaks into your house and eats all your cheese. 

**Author Notes:** Yeah, after this point all 'Mutatis Mutandis' stories will converge into one LINE. yay! 

**Awakening Part 4**   
N 

"…as Senators lobby for mandatory mutant registration. Leading the charge against the 'mutant menace' is Senator Hull, who likens the registration of mutants to the registration of firearms…" 

The flickering light of the television screen cast blue patterns across the faces of the Acolytes, turning their expressions into strange, frozen masks. 

"Erik?" Clarice whispered as the news cut to footage of Senator Hull delivering a fervent speech to the public. Magneto held up one hand, signaling for silence. 

"…and it is our duty as Americans to protect our children, and our children's children! We cannot allow dangerous weapons to go undetected when the safety of our families is at stake…" 

"Looks like he getting' de crowd pretty riled up, non?" Remy drawled softly as the mob onscreen applauded hysterically. 

"He is a fool," Magneto replied, his voice low and adamant. "And we shall stop him." Magneto turned and looked down imperiously at his team of young mutants. Pietro was regarded him with wide, solemn eyes while Remy and St. John lounged with latent anxiety singing in their poses. Piotr was inscrutable, as usual, and Clarice was watching him with apprehension. Jonothon was merely a dark shadow in the entryway of the living room - unmoving and silent. 

"If this act is passed, mutants everywhere will be at the 'mercy' of the humans," Magneto said. The contempt in his voice was acidic, like bile. "The first step is singling us out and discovering our weaknesses. The second step is extermination of the perceived threat." His eyes flicked to Clarice as she gasped. "The third step is simply body disposal." 

"So. What d'we do about it?" St. John asked. 

"Assassinate Senator Hull." 

"No…" Clarice whispered. 

Magneto fixed them all with an unwavering stare. "I have seen mass graves. I have smelt the stench of wrongful death and heard the cries of mothers whose children were ripped from them, screaming. I will NOT allow that to happen again." He placed a hand on Pietro's head. "We must take steps to ensure our survival. This is one of them, and if we are not brave enough, not strong enough… we too shall be slaughtered." 

Magneto strode across the living room and paused at the doorway. "We leave tomorrow morning at 5 am. Be ready." He did not turn around but proceeded to the front door and left the apartment. Silence reigned in his wake. 

"Well!" St. John clapped his hands together. "Looks like we all ought to get some rest, eh?" he stood, cracking his back. Remy slid off the couch as well and nodded a goodnight to those assembled before heading to bed. 

"See y'tomorrow Clarice," St John said, hooking an arm around Pietro's waist before steering the younger boy down the hall. Piotr grunted and stalked away after clicking the television off, leaving the girl alone in the dark. 

Or not. 

*Where yer sleepin' tonight?* The psionic 'voice' interrupted Clarice's thoughts and she shrugged. 

"My room. I don't think he'll be back tonight, do you?" 

*No. Probably not.* 

She could hear him approach and stop behind the couch where she sat with her arms wrapped around her knees. "Jono?" she asked tentatively. 

*Yes?* 

"Tomorrow…" she stopped. Her stomach was cramping itself into knots, leaving her limbs weak and shaking. "Jono, this isn't right," she whispered. 

*Wot isn't?* 

"What we're supposed to do!" she barely raised her voice above a whisper, but her tone was distraught. She stopped, waiting for Jonothon's reaction. 

*Ethics… are such funny things,* Jonothon replied after a moment's silence. Clarice could feel an unfamiliar coldness across the temporary psi-link between them. *They'd kill us, Clarice. We're just preventing future bloodshed.* 

She thought about grabbing him, shaking him, shouting, "You KNOW that's not true!" But she did no such thing. Instead she nodded, trying to keep her emotions in check. 

*Sleep well, luv.* 

"Goodnight, Jono." 

* * * 

Everything was gray. Hollow gray light, gray sky, gray buildings, gray streets, thousands of faceless gray people… 

Clarice wandered lost amongst the crowd. "Hello?" she called softly. The faceless thousands pressed in on every side of her but did acknowledge her presence. "Hello?" she tried again, louder. No reply. 

"Somebody help me!" she cried. The crowd did not cease its steady drone past her form, but suddenly the sky turned black and began to drip down onto the buildings like spilt ink. Clarice screamed soundlessly and ran, trying to outrun the melting void above her. It ran down the buildings with alarming speed and coated the crowd, then began to drip onto her arms even as she ran. 

Drop drop drop. Little dime-sized spatters of sky. Clarice stopped in the void, holding her arms out in front of her as her mouth puckered into a grimace of disgust. The droplets were a deep, vibrant crimson. Blood. 

It dripped from an unknown source, getting in her hair, staining her clothes. Clarice started making a high, keening noise back in her throat, her lips clamped tightly shut, as she wiped at the blood on her arms with shaking hands and only succeeded in smearing the viscous liquid over more of her skin. Trembling, she looked up and saw her father pinned above her, slit open from groin to sternum with his sides tacked open to reveal the hollowed out cavity where his bowels had recently resided. 

Scream after scream was torn from her throat, echoing indifferently into the dark. Clarice stumbled backwards and fell, sobbing against a floor slick with hot, coppery blood. "Somebody please help me," she whispered hoarsely, reaching out with the very essence of her being into the shadow in the desperate hope of finding some comfort. 

And amazingly, someone answered her. 

"Child." 

Clarice looked around, tears rolling down her face. Something about the presence stretching toward her was achingly familiar. 

"Child." 

"Hello?" she called. Dimly, she could see a figure in the distance. She stood and stumbled towards it, losing her balance once, until she stood in front of a man with the most compassionate eyes she'd ever seen. 

"I've finally found you," he said. 

"I think… I dreamt of you," Clarice murmured. The man nodded. 

"And I of you." He smiled and Clarice could feel palpable waves of kindness radiate towards her. "My name is Charles Xavier." 

"I'm Clarice," she began, and then started as though shocked. "You!" she cried. "You're the one Erik talks about!" 

Xavier paused. "Erik Magnus Lehnsherr?" 

"Yes." Clarice took a step backwards. "I should go." 

"Clarice, please, wait." Xavier gestured and Clarice paused, wary. "You reached out to me once not long ago. Tonight you have found me again. I cannot believe there is no reason behind it." 

Clarice stared at the ground before meeting Xavier's eyes once more. "Eric… he's planning something," she said finally. "Somebody's going to get hurt." Her eyes filled with tears. "Killed." 

"Who?" 

She was torn. On the one hand, she wanted to be loyal to Eric… her brave, fearless savior. On the other, she could not willingly participate in the injury of another living creature. She had sworn to herself that would NEVER happen again. 

"Senator Hull." 

* * * 

In the Sunshine Motel, Charles Xavier sat up and telepathically contacted Storm, heedless of the late hour. His heart was banging irregularly in his chest and there was a coppery, acidic taste in his mouth. *Ororo, assemble the X-Men,* he told her. *We have an emergency.* 

** End Awakening ** 


End file.
